


A Tragedy in Five Fucking Acts

by rubberbutton



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 20:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbutton/pseuds/rubberbutton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tragedy in Five Fucking Acts

**Act I  
**  
Joe woke abruptly; the room was still. Light from the streetlamp filtered through the curtains and cast shifting shadows as they swayed in the night breeze. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes, listening, but Pamela and Vern must have downed their nightcaps and gone to bed—or passed out on the couch if they didn’t make it that far. He blinked owlishly at the clock on his bedside table; it was a quarter to four—hours before school. If he were going to school. Lately he’d played hooky more often than not, smoking dope and hanging out behind the arcade with Billy Boisy and Don Schnitaker.

There was an odd scraping, shuffling noise; it must have been what woke him. He kicked off the covers, shivering a little as the breeze hit his bare skin. Pushing aside the curtain, he jumped and swore under his breath.

“Christ. Billy. You scared me.”

Billy crouched on the gentle slope of the roof outside Joe’s window, a hand splayed against the screen. “Here—help me with this.” His whispered tone was perfectly normal, as though he regularly wound up on the Mulgrews’ roof in the middle of the night.

Joe fumbled with the latch, and the screen fell outwards and down the incline with the sound of sandpaper on a blackboard. They winced and held still, waiting for the clamour of Vern’s outrage.

But the night remained calm, the moon hanging peacefully over the scene. Billy half-rolled, half-fell into Joe’s bedroom, coming to his feet gracefully. Joe, who slept in his boxers, felt suddenly exposed. He cast about for a t-shirt, but realized that Billy would surely have some crack about his modesty. But Billy didn’t seem to notice Joe’s near nakedness or his discomfiture.

“What’s up?” he asked, with a bright grin that would have fooled anyone else. Joe could see its brittle edges and how Billy held his shoulders hunched just the slightest bit, braced for something. Billy sat gingerly, settling on the edge of Joe’s bed. “Got anything to drink?”

Joe nodded and rooted around in the chest at the end of his bed, pushing aside an old hockey card collection and several volumes of the Hardy Boys. He produced a half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey and took a swig before handing it over. Billy’s throat worked convulsively as he chugged and Joe’s own stomach burned in sympathy.

“What happened?” he asked as Billy took a last swallow and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“I’m running away.”

“What, again?”

“For real this time.” Billy shuddered. “I can’t go back. I’ll kill him if I go back, Joe, I swear to God.” Joe didn’t have to ask to know that the ‘him’ in question was Gerry, Billy’s mom’s live-in boyfriend and dealer.

Joe eased down next to Billy and shrugged. “So you don’t go back.” He recovered the bottle before Billy decided to finish it off. “You can crash here for awhile.” Joe set the bottle aside and turned back to Billy, who was doubled over, forehead cradled in his palm.

“Did he hurt you?” Joe asked quietly.

Billy snorted. “Tried to—I’m faster than him, now.”

The cold feeling in Joe’s chest eased a little. He set the bottle down and relaxed back onto the bed, the alcohol and the hour taking its toll.

“Fuck, Joe.” Billy cradled his forehead in his palm. “What am I going to do?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Joe tugged on the back of Billy’s t-shirt. “We’re going to move out of here. Start a band. Get rich and famous.” Billy let himself be pulled down, his shoes streaking the sheets with grime.

“Yeah, Vern’ll love that, you skipping out on college.”

Joe scowled. “Vern and I don’t see eye-to-eye on the course of my future plans. He can go fuck himself. If he thinks I’m going to wear a suit and show up at the office... This’ll be a real band. We’re not kids anymore.” He shifted to his side, making room for Billy on the narrow bed. “Rock and roll, baby. It’s the only scene that counts.”

“Joseph Mulgrew, the rock star?” Billy sounded sceptical.

“Well, we’ll have to change our names. What—you think Sid Vicious is on his birth certificate?”

Billy hmmed sleepily.

“Of course not. Naming yourself is a symbol or something. A rebirth.”

“Yeah, sure,” Billy agreed but sounded unconvinced. “What should my name be?”

Joe considered. “This is a major decision, William—you sure you want to trust me with it?”

Billy laughed shortly. “I retain veto powers, of course.”

Joe rolled onto back, staring at the ceiling as he debated. “Talent. Only with two L’s—Billy Tallent. Yeah, I like that.”

“Billy Tallent? Are you kidding?”

“What are you talking about—it’s awesome.”

“__Tallent?__”

“You know, ‘cause you are one.”

Billy sighed heavily. “All right. I’m Billy Tallent.”

“What about me?” Joe prompted.

“Um, Joe...Joe...” Billy fumbled for a name. “Joe Dick,” he finished finally. “Because you are one.”

“Very fucking funny, Mr. Tallent.”

“Well, I think so, Mr. Dick.”

Joe laughed, pleased. Billy threw an arm across Joe’s bare chest, fingers curling along the place where his shoulder met neck and pulled himself closer. His bony chin dug in just below Joe’s collarbone and his breath was hot in Joe’s ear. Billy was damp with sweat, reeking of the bourbon, and every point of contact felt hot enough to brand.

Joe could feel Billy’s heartbeat, which was something that he thought only happened in cheesy love songs but there it was. Joe held still and for a moment their heartbeats were in unison, but Billy’s was just a hair slower than Joe’s, just a beat behind. They fell out of rhythm, then were syncopated, then overlapped again. Joe thought Billy had fallen asleep, but his voice came, soft and muzzy with alcohol and exhaustion.

“Joe?”

“Yeah, Bill?” Joe focused on the quiet rise and fall of Billy’s chest.

“Do you think we can actually make it? The band, I mean.”

“With Billy Tallent as our guitarist? Hell, yes. We are destined for great fucking things, my friend.”

Billy sighed, apparently needing no further reassurance, but his hand squeezed Joe’s shoulder once and let go. But it didn’t withdraw completely, sliding down over Joe’s ribs. Joe’s breath caught, and he felt a jolt of nerves even before he could articulate why, but the hand just stopped at his waist.

Billy shifted against him, pushing into him. With a jolt, Joe realized the hard press at his hip was Billy’s erection. Joe’s body responded as Billy rolled over on top of him, a knee between his thighs. Billy fumbled with his fly a moment, shoving his jeans down his thighs—Billy always went commando. Joe caught a flash of naked skin before he was distracted by Billy tugging his boxers off his hips, hot fingers groping him briefly. Joe moaned as Billy’s touch retreated, close to panting, but then Billy was thrusting against him. Arching up against Billy, he fought for more contact. Billy’s forehead pressed against the side of Joe’s neck and when Billy bit him sharply, Joe came.

Billy kept thrusting a few more times, sliding against Joe’s semen-slicked belly and came with a grunt. They lay a moment, catching their breath.

“Well, that was—” Joe started.

“Shut up,” Billy warned, tugging his t-shirt over his head and handing it to Joe, who wiped himself off and dropped it over the side of the bed. “And go to sleep.” He rolled over, his back to Joe.

Joe yawned hugely and patted Billy on the shoulder. “Good night, Billiam. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest our lives.”

Billy, already asleep, said nothing.

  
**Act II  
**  
The crowd writhed, screaming the lyrics even when Joe fumbled them, fuelled by alcohol and the hypnotic throb of the music.

He rode the wave of the last encore, everything a series of images coming into focus and swirling away in the flash of the strobes—the shimmer of cymbals, the change of color from red to blue and back, the flex of Billy’s forearm across the strings of his guitar.

And then it was over, the alcohol and adrenaline still pumping through Joe’s veins. Billy already back in the dressing room, stowing away his guitar. That stupid guitar was a piece of shit, but he loved it. Joe watched as Billy’s fingers lingered over the frets, caressing the worn veneer. If they kept getting gigs like this, it wouldn’t be long before they could replace the crap they were playing with now. Joe could afford to buy Billy something with some class. Billy was good—he’d never had lessons, but he understood his instrument. Joe merely found a couple of chords he liked and made up for the muddy tone with volume.

Joe was as artless and clumsy as the guitar he played. But Billy deserved better.

“Good show,” Joe said, tired of waiting.

“You were off on “Something’s Gonna Die”,” Billy observed, attention still on the guitar.

Joe moved from the doorway, closing the door behind him. “So? Who cares—the crowd loved it.”

“Yeah, they did.” Billy stood, flashing him a quick grin. “It’s a good song, Joe. You did good.”

He said it like he hadn’t had to work the whole chord progression himself.

“What did I tell you, Billiam? I told you that it was a great song. You should always trust me. That’s your problem, you know. Not trusting me. Have I ever lied to you? Led you astray?”

“In more ways than one, Joe.” His voice was unreadable but there was a glint in Billy’s eye that made Joe’s stomach tighten. Billy took a precarious seat on the edge of the dressing room table, leaning back against the mirrors with his hips jutted forward.

“That so?” Joe asked lazily, feeling warmth pool in his stomach. He moved in and braced his hands on either side of Billy, who smirked through downcast eyes. Yeah, like Joe bought the modest act. “Just how have I—“ Joe nudged Billy’s legs apart with his knee, “—led you astray?”

Joe licked a slow, deliberate trail from the point of Billy’s collarbone to just behind his ear. Billy shivered, his pulse fluttering under Joe’s tongue. Joe sucked the lobe of Billy’s ear into his mouth and teased it lightly. Billy’s hands came up to grab his face, bringing it to his own. Joe pushed in for a kiss, but Billy held him still, studying him with eyes that were almost colourless in the dim light.

“You’re fucked up, you know that?” Billy asked rhetorically.

“Fuck, __everybody__ knows that.”

Billy kissed him slowly along his lower lip and licked deeply into Joe’s mouth, his hand gripping Joe’s chin. Joe grunted a protest, objecting to the forced passivity. Billy laughed against his mouth and let go, his hand dropping to the collar of Joe’s shirt and his fingers getting a good grip on the fabric. He nipped Joe’s jaw lightly then kissed the side of his neck. Suddenly he bit sharply and sucked hard; Joe could feel the blood rushing to the abused skin as Billy raised what had to be the mother of all hickeys. Joe jerked away but Billy’s grip on his shirt just tightened. He was being marked, Joe realized, and his cock hardened in his pants.

Satisfied with his work, Billy gave a final lick and abruptly pushed Joe away with a shove.

“__I’m__ the fucked up one?” Joe demanded as he staggered and regained his balance, his fingers going to his neck. “Vampires are for goths, Billy.”

Billy gave a one-shouldered shrug that could have meant any one of a hundred different things or nothing at all, his shoulder bumping into Joe’s shoulder as he headed for the door.

“I should go help Pipe with the equipment.”

Joe caught his arm. “Sure thing, I just bet you will. If by Pipe, you mean groupies and by the equipment, you mean _your_ equipment. You really should be careful, Billiam—some of those girls have easy virtue. You don’t know where they’ve been.”

“I don’t know where _you’ve_ been, either,” Billy observed wryly, glancing dropping to Joe’s hand on his elbow. “I don’t see how it’s anything to you.”

“It is if my lead guitarist gets laid up with the crotch rot.” Joe braced his free hand against the door, backing Billy into it. “Herpes, the clap, crabs... Better that you don’t take the risk. Not when everything you could really want it right here.”

“You really don’t get sweet-talk do you?” Billy said and brought an arm up to hook around Joe’s neck, pulling him in for a hard kiss.

“Overrated,” Joe panted into Billy’s neck as he thrust up against him. Billy got a hand between their bodies, catching Joe’s waistband and holding him still long enough so that his clever fingers could open Joe’s fly. Joe grunted as Billy’s hand closed around his cock. Forehead braced against Billy’s shoulder, Joe returned the favour, exposing Billy’s flushed cock. Billy batted his hand away, instead pressing their cocks together and taking them in his hand.

“Fuck, yes,” Joe whispered, thrusting a little into Billy’s sure grip. Billy was rough, not quite crossing into pain, but with an efficiency meant to bring them off as quickly as possible. Joe came first and used his own come to slick his hand and begin pumping Billy’s cock, with slower, more deliberate strokes, whispering obscenities and endearments into Billy’s ear. Billy moaned and shook a little as his own orgasm overcame him. He sagged against the door, and Joe had to brace him up or he would have slid to the floor.

“See, Billiam,” Joe whispered in Billy’s ear. “You don’t need the skanks.”

  
**Act III  
**  
“He’s not that great, Joe.” Billy said as he slunk into the kitchen to lean against the door frame.

“Wow,” Joe observed to no one in particular, scribbling a few more lyrics into the pages of a spiral notebook. “This argument feels really familiar. I wonder why—oh, yes, that’s right! Because I’ve already had it eight fucking times this week.” Joe got up from the table, shoving past Billy, when Billy refused to move. Billy trailed after him as he moved to the living room. “He’s got some great ideas for that song I’ve been working on—killer riffs.”

“He’s a dink who can barely play his guitar.”

“Bucky Haight is a fucking _god_,” Joe snapped, turning to face Billy. “Just because you’ve got some personal _issue_ with him...”

Billy pulled away, throwing his hands up in disgust. “I can’t believe you buy into this whole punk–martyr act. Maybe he’s got the look, maybe he’s got the attitude, but he does not have the music.”

Joe laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “_He does not have the music_,” he parroted back, sneering. “Christ, Bill—when did you get so pompous?”

“You just can’t see how obnoxious he is because you want to suck his dick.” Billy’s eyes were narrowed dangerously.

“And you’re just jealous because you want to suck mine,” Joe leered, with a smug grin.

It wasn’t until Joe found himself on the ground that he realized Billy had hit him. His jaw ached and for a moment he was sure he was going to vomit, the nausea dizzying in its intensity. But then he was up, clumsily throwing himself at Billy, bearing him to the ground. Joe was bigger, but Billy was vicious and the only way he fought was dirty.

Blood was stinging Joe’s eyes, streaming from a cut he’d gotten on the corner of the coffee table. Joe swore with every breath, but Billy was dead quiet; the only sound he made was the woof of breath leaving his body as Joe got in a good shot to the solar plexus. In the end, though, Billy ended up on top of Joe, straddling his chest, his knees pinning Joe’s arms to his sides.

Joe waited, barely able to breathe for Billy’s weight and the blood trickling down the back of his throat from a bloody nose. Billy looked crazy, absolutely certifiable, his face a smeared with his blood and his blond spikes tinged pink with it. But instead of using Joe’s face as a punching bag, Billy stared at him for a long moment, something in his expression easing. He leaned in and kissed Joe, just the tiniest bit of tongue darting out across Joe’s upper lip.

“You look like shit,” he whispered, pulling back a little.

“You were always the pretty one. S’why we keep you around,” Joe choked out, coughing weakly.

“Yeah,” Billy said. “Not for any of that guitar stuff.”

“No,” Joe agreed vaguely as Billy kissed him again, on the lips, then the chin, then the corner of his eye, then his temple—gentle, deliberate kisses, as he tasted the blood streaking Joe’s face. Joe’s body was buzzing with adrenaline and pain that didn’t feel like pain, hanging on the light press of Billy’s lips and the scrape of his stubble as he inventoried the damage. Joe wanted to touch him, but his arms were still trapped.

“You’ve got a mean right-hook,” Joe admitted as Billy kissed his bruised jaw. “It’s going to make singing at that gig Thursday a real bitch.”

Billy kissed him on the lips again to quiet him, and then worked a line down the side of Joe’s neck to the base of his neck. Finally Billy shifted, freeing Joe’s arms as he worked his way lower. He shoved Joe’s t-shirt up and licked the soft, exposed flesh of Joe’s stomach, which jumped and quivered.

But Billy’s attention quickly turned lower and he thumbed open the button on Joe’s jeans and with exacting care tugged down the zipper to free Joe’s erection. He studied it a moment as if wasn’t sure he could really be bothered. Joe growled helplessly and Billy grinned and lowered his head to suck. He didn’t bother with preliminaries or extras, just single-minded focus on the task.

Joe grunted his approval, though jealousy prickled in the back of his mind—just how had Billy become so practiced? But he was quickly distracted by the flick of Billy’s tongue and the slide of his lips. He didn’t last long, spilling himself into Billy’s mouth and down his chin. Over too quickly, the orgasm left him unsatisfied as the pleasure quickly retreated into dull pain.

“I’ll do you,” he offered as off-handedly as he could manage with his softening dick still hanging out the front of his pants.

Billy pushed himself back, wiping his mouth on hid hand and then dragging it down the leg of Joe’s jeans, leaving a slick trail of spit and semen. “Nah, it’s okay.” Billy moved to the far end of the couch, reaching for a carton of cigs. “But Bucky Haight is still a fucking moron.”

  
**Act IV  
**  
Joe pushed the door of Billy’s hotel room open without knocking. The room was dark, lit only by the muted TV. Infomercials, Joe noted vaguely, always a classic. He could smell the whiskey as he closed the door softly behind him—Billy’s poison of choice.

“Hey,” he said tentatively. Billy lay on the bed, splayed out across the thin bedspread. He’d stripped out of his sweat-soaked t-shirt; the flickering light from the TV made his skin look gray and cast shadows along the arc of his ribs.

Billy looked over at him, and Joe could tell just how far gone he was from the way his head lolled against the pillow. The AC unit kicked on, humming loudly.

Billy reached for the bottle on the bedside table but fumbled and knocked it over. It hit the carpet with a dull thud, sloshing out in a wide arc. Joe recovered it, took a long swig, and set it back down.

“Easy there, tiger,” he rasped, his voice still thick from screaming the lyrics and obscenities during the gig. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. “Look. I know that you’re pissed at me right now. I get that. You got every right to be mad, but you got to understand.” Joe shifted, turning to Billy, whose eyes drifted closed. “Billy, guys like Seymour Stein, they’re not for us. Better you find that out now. You think a major label’s going to make you happy, but it won’t, it can’t, it never will. You’re not like that. You’re like me.” Joe placed a hand on Billy’s chest, along his sternum. His skin was cold, clammy to the touch—no wonder with that damn air conditioning cranked up.

Billy shuddered and rolled over onto his stomach, away from Joe.

“I’m doing you a favour. You could leave; make the big time. Play their game by their rules. And you’d probably win—make the covers of every magazine and win every award. You’d have your models and your Beverly Hills penthouse. You’d have everything you think you want and it would make you miserable. It would kill you. Because this wanting? It’s a sickness inside of you and it’s eating you up. It’ll kill you if you don’t cut it out. Cut it out, burn it out, tear it out.” Joe leaned over, his lips moving along the back of Billy’s neck as he spoke, one hand stroking down Billy’s side gently. “You belong to the dive clubs and the grit, Billy. You belong with me. To me.” Joe kissed along the line of Billy’s spine, lightly and deliberately along each vertebra. Billy shifted and sighed something into the mattress. Joe worked an arm around Billy’s waist; he felt heavier than he should have, his limbs were cumbersome deadweight. Joe got Billy’s fly open one-handed. Billy’s jeans were loose and rode low already; it was easy enough to get them down off his hips, shove them down his lean thighs.

Billy murmured again, sounding annoyed. Joe moved back up, propped up on an elbow, most of his weight pressed against the chilled skin of Billy’s back. Joe kissed Billy’s neck soothingly.

“Fuck off,” Billy finally got out and that was clear enough even if slurred with alcohol. He moved to get his arms under him, trying to heave himself up and Joe off. Joe settled his weight more firmly, pinning Billy to the mattress. “M’serious, _fuck_ _off_.”

Joe caught one of Billy’s wrist to keep him from getting leverage. After a moment, Billy went limp and Joe let go, stroking Billy’s hip.

“See, Billy, I know you don’t mean that.” Joe managed to get his own pants open, his cock half-hard, and stroked himself a couple of times, the blood pounding in his ears. “Always keeping me at arm’s fucking length.” He thrust against the cleft of Billy’s ass. Billy jerked and flinched away. Joe shushed him, kissed his shoulder blade softly. He worked a hand along Billy’s stomach, groping for his cock. He found it soft and small between Billy’s legs. Joe fondled it for a moment, still thrusting against Billy, but it remained unresponsive. Frustrated, Joe withdrew. “Trying to hide away, hide yourself, but I know who you are. You can’t keep me out, Billy.”

Joe spat into his hand, slicking himself, and pushed into Billy. Billy bucked a little, grunting as Joe thrust slowly past his body’s resistance. A few quick thrusts was all it took for Joe to spill himself with a shuddering gasp. He collapsed, sagging into Billy, whose eyes were closed tightly. Joe ran his fingers through the soft hair behind Billy’s ears, and down the side of his neck gently.

“I love you, William. Like nobody else does.” Joe withdrew carefully, and reached over the side of the bed, grabbing the blankets and untucked them with a yank. He pulled them over, cocooning them in the vaguely bleach-scented covers.

  
**Act V  
**  
“Here,” Joe dropped a paper bag with a fast food logo on the side and greasy stains on the bottom onto Billy’s stomach. “And you better appreciate it; I spent hours slaving in a hot kitchen.”

Billy pushed himself up, setting back against the headboard and fished out a couple of fries. “Yeah? Where’s my pie?”

“Ungrateful wretch.” Joe threw himself down next to Billy on the bed, which bucked wildly, its box springs screeching. “I’ve been thinking.” He held up a warning finger before Billy could get in something like _first time for everything_ or _hope you didn’t hurt yourself_. “I’ve been thinking and you know what I think? I think this time—this time we make it. With the publicity from the movie, our reunion tour...we can make it. Maybe finally sign with a label.”

“You hate major labels.”

“I surely do, and they hate me. But they love money more, and I’ve gotten wiser in my old age.”

“No you haven’t.”

Joe shrugged cheerfully. “Probably not. But I’m sick of this acoustic bullshit I’ve been doing. If a label’s what’s going to keep this band together, then that’s what I’m prepared to do. Bring down the system from the inside, man. Viva la revolucion.” He took the bag and collected the loose fries at the bottom.

“So sell out, is what you’re saying.”

“Potato, patato,” Joe said and waved a fry airily.

“I can’t believe this, Joe.” Billy rubbed his face tiredly.

“What, that I’d really consider signing with a label?”

“No, I’m actually more hung up on the fraud thing.”

“I figured by this point nothing I did shocked you.”

“You _stole_ twenty-thousand dollars. That’s not something they’re going to overlook, Joe.”

Joe shrugged, tugging at the brim of his baseball cap. “So I have to pay it back, maybe I do six months—that’s nothing.”

“Yeah,” Billy shrugged expansively, “_nothing._”

“Relax, Billiam. Think of it as publicity. People love that kind of shit.” Joe punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t be such a nervous nelly.”

“You are so fucking stupid. Really, a complete moron.”

“Aw, Bill, you know flattery will get you anywhere,” Joe grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you were worried about me.”

“Worried that when you go down, you’ll take me with you,” Billy countered.

“You’re worried about me going down?” Joe’s tone turned coy and innuendo-laced. “Used to be, Billiam, that you _loved_ it when I went down.”

Billy rolled his eyes and unwrapped a burger. “Nice, Joe. You’re so fucking clever.”

“What—are you denying it?” Joe propped himself up on an elbow. Billy pulled a pickle off his burger and gave it to Joe, who crunched it noisily. “I know you haven’t forgotten. Not enough booze in the world for that.” Billy glanced to him to the door and back again meaningfully. “What? Bruce isn’t here. I think he’s getting film of John going nucking futs. Like he needed more.”

“I’m not denying it, Joe. I’m trying to move on. What we did in our teens—“

“Or five years ago?”

“—doesn’t matter now,” Billy concluded stubbornly.

“Do you really believe that? Or is this just what your therapist has told you to say?” Joe shifted closer, his face right in Billy’s. Billy’s gaze was veiled and Joe couldn’t read the emotion there. But then he felt Billy’s hand on the back of his neck.

“No,” Billy whispered and kissed him and Joe wasn’t sure what question Billy was answering but he really didn’t care. Not when the kiss was soft in a way Joe couldn’t remember Billy’s kisses every being. It wasn’t tentative, exactly, but careful. He let Billy open his mouth, his tongue pushing its way in. “I hate you,” Billy said, his eyes still closed as the kiss ended.

Joe nuzzled Billy’s ear. “Yeah, I can see how much you hate me,” and he palmed Billy’s erection. “We have a complicated relationship.”

Billy laughed and rolled his hips, pressing into Joe’s hand. Joe didn’t want to reward such pushy behaviour, but Billy felt good under his fingers, looked good with his jeans low on his hips, a sliver of belly just visible. It had been so fucking long since he’d been this close to Billy. The whole tour had been torture. John had always been oblivious, too lost in his own psychosis, and Pipe was the dumbest of fucks, but Bruce didn’t miss much and that goddamn camera was always in the way. But now...

Joe kissed Billy again and then moved to get between Billy’s thighs, pushing the forgotten burger out of the way. He put his nose to Billy’s crotch, inhaling the sharp and heady scent of arousal and Billy. He stayed there, a thumb stroking over the jut of Billy’s hip, and would have kept breathing Billy in, but Billy squirmed impatiently. Joe considered making him wait, but his own impatience spurred him on.

He unzipped with deft tug and freed Billy’s cock. He glanced up at Billy’s face as he took it in his hand and licked the head. Billy’s eyes lids fluttered closed and his hissed “_Jesus_!” was gratifying in the extreme.

Billy’s hands came to rest on the sides of his head—not trying to push him or hurry him up, just another point of contact between them. He slid Joe’s baseball cap off, his calloused finger tips rough against Joe’s naked scalp as he caressed along the mohawk and around Joe’s ears. He faltered as Joe’s tongue traced the head of his cock and flicked against the slit.

Joe worked the best as he knew how, remembering all the things Billy liked—a hand cupping his balls, just the slightly graze of teeth. It’d been fucking years, but Joe hadn’t forgotten any of it. He recognized as Billy tensed, his breath coming in quick little gasps, that he was close but Joe just sucked a little harder and with a whispered “Joe” Billy came.

Joe stayed with him, swallowing the hot salt that spilled over his tongue, pulling off only as Billy whined a protest at the over-stimulation.

Joe stretched back out, working his sore jaw. “Fuck, it’s been awhile.”

“What, you’re saying mine is the only cock you’ll suck?”

“I only do it for fun, not for profit. Unlike you.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, he tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped up. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” Joe promised and leaned in for another kiss, which Billy returned. Joe rubbed up against him, his own neglected erection pressing into Billy’s thigh.

Suddenly Billy broke the kiss. “Shit. What time is it?”

“I don’t know—almost seven? Why?”

“Fuck.” Billy got up, running a hand through his hair to revitalize flattened spikes. “I’ve got to go. Got some interview.”

“Not fair,” Joe said and grabbed his crotch. “Some of us have unfinished business.”

Billy stepped into his boots, the laces already tied. “Hey, I’ll pay you back later, okay?”

Joe sighed heavily, but he knew the effect was ruined by his dopey smile. He waved Billy off. “Yeah, yeah—just so long as you don’t forget.”

Billy grinned and gave Joe a quick kiss, before heading out the door. “Sorry to leave you hanging.”


End file.
